


My Lukewarm Shower

by goldenrod



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Abandonment, Angst, Bisexual Female Character, F/F, Masturbation, Other, Pre-Relationship, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-05
Updated: 2014-02-05
Packaged: 2018-01-11 06:19:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1169702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenrod/pseuds/goldenrod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Faith's got a shower and her fingers. She doesn't need anyone else. Especially not blondes who aren't gonna stick around anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Lukewarm Shower

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Porn Battle XV. Prompts were "Faith Lehane, shower, solo, abandonment issues". It's nominally "Buffy/Faith", but doesn't really go outside of what was presented in canon. Set at some vague point around early season 3.
> 
> Feedback welcome and gratefully received.

It's a crappy motel in so many ways, the kind where the shower feels like tiny lukewarm needles stabbing into your skin, the TV has nothing on but what's probably porn if you squint hard enough through the static, and the walls are so thin you can hear the hooker in the room next door moan unconvincingly as some john fucks his frustration into her. Neither of which is particularly helping Faith right at that moment, because she dusted three vamps on patrol tonight and is still pretty pumped, and the excess adrenaline has gone straight down south of the border if you get the drift. And unfortunately for her there's no one else here.

It's about the time that she hears a scream of something like _fuck me like the slut I am_ that Faith retreats into the shower. She might be horny, but she's somehow managed to cling on to just enough dignity in her life not to masturbate while listening to a prostitute at work. In any case, the water pressure might be for shit, but she's found out previously that if you stand at just the right place in the corner with your legs just so far apart, it gets almost close to hitting the button. And what the shower-head can't accomplish, Faith's fingers are more than equipped to compensate for.

It's not long before Faith's managed to get a good rhythm going, but try as she might no matter what whenever she closes her eyes she sees golden hair and creamy pale skin that's just begging to be bitten. It always happens; no matter how Faith starts off or how she tries to distract herself, no matter how many of the guys or girls she's shared a bed with over the years she tries to focus on, it always comes back to the same goddamn image of golden hair and creamy skin and wide, innocent eyes and smiles. It doesn't help that, unlike those guys or girls -- most of whom, in all honesty, are just a random assortment of anonymous douchebags or bitches who more or less blur together into an amorphous collection of hands and tongues and cocks and pussies in her mind -- _she_  hasn't left.

Yet. _She_  hasn't left _yet_.

(Faith keeps forgetting to add the 'yet', these days. As if it isn't inevitable.)

And so, although Faith hates herself for it, she lets the image slowly take over and her fingers keep doing the walking, until it's almost like _she's_  in this shower with her (although let's be real, _she_ would never be caught dead in a shitty joint like this -- you wanna fuck _her_ , you fuck somewhere classy, somewhere Faith's got no hope of ever being). It's as if Faith can feel _her_ hands all over her skin and _her_ tongue against her neck, and fuck, that's really what she needs right now. And Faith hates it because she knows it's never gonna happen and there's no point in torturing herself like this, but fuck it, if she closes her eyes that golden hair and creamy skin so close she can almost reach out and touch it.

Faith comes quick, so quick that when she's coming down from the high she can still hear the noise from the other room, and she cries out because fuck it, she can make plenty of noise too. But as soon as she realises that she's done, the image of golden hair and creamy skin melts away, which is only to be expected. It never hangs around long, just like she almost certainly won't hang around very long.

For a moment, though, Faith lets the lukewarm water cut into her and tries to hang on to the image just a little bit longer, tries to imagine what it actually would be like to have that creamy skin under her fingers and those lips against that throat and that golden hair in front of her, filling her vision, being all that she can see and all that she wants.

It almost works, too. But then the image dissolves into the water for good, and Faith reaches for the soap and reminds herself not to be such a stupid fucking pussy and to not to torture herself with dumb fucking fantasies that are never gonna happen with people who aren't gonna fucking stick around anyway.

Faith's got a shower and her fingers. She doesn't need anyone else.


End file.
